The Contest
by Thenidiel
Summary: Fed up with the lack of maturity amongst his musketeers, Treville organises a competition.
1. Chapter 1

"It's my baguette, I bought it!"

"Ah, but I stole it fair and square, so it's mine."

"How can you steal something 'fair and square'?"

"My need was greater than yours."

"Your need for my breakfast?"

"Gentlemen!"

The four musketeers looked up, to see Treville's face fixed into an expression of mingled amusement and exasperation. An expression, Athos mused, that seemed to be becoming rather permanent.

"It has not escaped my notice" said Treville, "that four of my best musketeers have, of late, been behaving more like overgrown children than like the king's bodyguards." Ignoring the injured looks, he carried on. "In order to bring your focus back to your jobs, I am therefore decreeing a contest." Raising his voice still further in an attempt to drown out Porthos' protestations that by commandeering D'Artagnan's breakfast, he was enabling himself to do his job better, he announced that in a week's time, the four of them would compete in swordplay, shooting, and hand-to-hand combat. The one who ranked highest overall would be declared the winner.

"What's the prize, Captain?" asked Aramis. Treville smiled; this was the best part of his scheme. "Madame Rodier is visiting Paris next month," he said, and then watched with no small amount of glee as the musketeers' faces fell in unison. Madame Rodier was a second cousin of the king, a small, plump woman of late middle years. Ever since her husband had died two years earlier, she had made a habit of visiting the capital, and the musketeers were required to provide protection for her due to the royal connection. Between her shameless advances on the musketeers, and her frequent and whining commands that they fetch cakes for her and her pet lapdogs at any hour of the day or night, guarding her was every musketeer's nightmare.

"As usual, a detail of three musketeers will be needed to protect her" continued Treville, by now enjoying himself mightily. "The winner will be excused this duty." With that, he returned to his office, feeling rather pleased with himself.

"Captain?"

He looked up to see Athos, who had followed him into his office, and was looking almost cheerful, an expression that was rare for the generally taciturn musketeer at the best of times, and certainly at this moment of great peril.

"Yes?"

"Are you holding this contest because you are seriously worried about our ability to protect the king, or because you want a reprieve from the bickering?"

Not for the first time in his life, Treville silently cursed Athos' ability to read people. He floundered for an answer for a moment, before Athos spoke again.

"If it's the latter, I fear it will be less than successful."

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A.N. Thanks for reading! Please review, and just to say that I haven't yet decided on the winner of this competition - if you have any opinions let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos had been wrong, thought Treville. Not only had the musketeers' arguing ceased, they seemed to have stopped speaking entirely. Glorious, blessed silence reigned over the garrison; the first peace and quiet the captain had known for weeks.

So why should he be worried?

He rose from his desk, and looked outside to check that a sudden plague hadn't killed his best musketeers. However, when he saw the scene in the courtyard, he began to think that said plague might be preferable. The four of them had retreated to different areas, and each seemed to be feverishly calculating … something. Athos and Aramis were using pen and paper, while Porthos and D'Artagnan were staring into the distance, entirely focused on whatever was going through their heads.

Returning to his paperwork, Treville told himself to stop being so suspicious. He'd got what he wanted, hadn't he? There was no bickering, mock duels or general foolishness – nothing but the distant hum of the city was to be heard.

He was worried.

Rising again, he checked outside, and found that the courtyard was now entirely empty.

He was very worried.

* * *

A mile or so away from the garrison there was a small pub, and it was here that the four musketeers convened.

"Gentlemen," Athos began, "I suspect that you have all come to the same conclusion I have." Looking around and seeing general agreement he continued. "As things stand, Aramis will win shooting, and Porthos hand-to-hand. Sword-fighting, while closer, is likely to be D'Artagnan or myself. What is less clear is who is likely to come second or third in all of these. Looking at my calculations, overall it's pretty even right now, meaning that we have several options."

"One", said Porthos, "we could try and persuade each other for coaching in our weak spots, which would improve our chances." He was looking hopefully at Aramis as he spoke, but the marksman looked non-committal.

"Or," interjected D'Artagnan, "we could relax for the next week, and see who's luckier on the day." The young man was still delighted at finally joining the ranks of the musketeers, and was currently feeling pretty confident in his abilities. More importantly, he had yet to have the misfortune of guarding Madame Rodier, and while he had heard storied of the awfulness it entailed, he still did not fully appreciate the true horror of the prospect.

"Thirdly," said Aramis, when it became obvious that nobody was going to go along with D'Artagnan's idea, "we could rig the results."

* * *

A.N. Thank you for reading, and for the reviews so far! The winner is still open - let me know your preference!


	3. Chapter 3

"Go on," said Athos, leaning forward with interest, but before Aramis could speak D'Artagnan leapt in, sounding sceptical.

"But surely if we're all suddenly exactly the same standard at everything Treville will smell a rat."

"Which is why we're not going to be exactly the same at everything" replied Aramis patiently. "We'll set it up so we all end up getting the same number of points in total. I've worked it out; two of us will have to tie once or twice, but it is feasible." He pulled out the paper he'd been working on and showed it to the others.

"It could work," agreed Athos, "but Treville's no fool, he could insist on a final round to decide the winner."

Aramis nodded. "That's why we need to persuade him that we're taking this very seriously. We need to train like madmen for the next week. We have to act like we're desperate to beat each other. Then, when it turns out to be a draw he can't blame us, since it was obvious that we all wanted to win. With any luck he'll put three other musketeers on to the detail, rather than having to choose three of us arbitrarily"

"Sounds like a good idea to me" said D'Artagnan cheerfully, before getting up and heading to the bar for another drink. Athos studied the plan for another minute before following the Gascon. Porthos sat for a few moments in uncharacteristic silence before turning to Aramis.

"You going to tell me the actual plan, then?"

* * *

At this moment in time D'Artagnan was feeling pretty good about life. Sure, the contest was a bit of a problem, but Aramis' scheme seemed watertight. And even if it turned out not to be, he still felt sure that the horror stories of Madame Rodier were exaggerated. So it was with a cheerful countenance that he turned to Athos when the older man joined him. A countenance that was not mirrored in any way.

"We have a serious problem." When D'Artagnan looked non-plussed, Athos gestured to the other two, now deep in conversation. "They're plotting against us."

"Nonsense," replied D'Artagnan immediately. "Aramis wouldn't do that"

"Aramis is one of the most loyal men I know, and in a battle I would trust him with my life, but this is very different. He knows that he's untouchable in shooting, just as Porthos knows he's guaranteed to win hand-to-hand. So if the two of them train each other, so that Aramis will come second in hand-to-hand, and Porthos second in shooting, then neither of us have a hope of winning. It'll go down to whichever of them wins sword-fighting. By teaming up they double their chances of victory"

"But then why would Aramis go to all the trouble of planning the draw out."

"Because if we followed his scheme, we wouldn't be worrying about how to beat each other. We wouldn't suspect him of plotting anything else."

D'Artagnan nodded slowly. While he was reluctant to believe that his friends would act dishonourably, what Athos was saying did make a certain amount of sense.

"So what's our plan, then?"

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A.N. Thanks once again for reading / reviewing. I'm making this up as I go along, so suggestions are appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

D'Artagnan had a headache. In the three days since Treville's announcement, he had been persuaded into agreements with each of his friends individually, to join them and bring down the other two. He now had normal training during the day, and extra sword training at night with either Aramis or Porthos, both of whom had said they would focus on swordplay in the hope of beating Athos. He wasn't sure if he believed either of them, or if this was part of their plan to take him and Athos down, but he was certain that any extra training could only be beneficial to him, so went along with them.

Until tonight, when all his agreements had conspired against him. At precisely eight o'clock, he was meant to be meeting Aramis at the Hotel de Ville for sword practice. Eight was also the time at which Porthos was expecting him behind the Luxembourg for more training, and if this was not enough, eight was when he should be assisting Athos with altering the muskets at the garrison. D'Artagnan had objected to this unsportsmanlike behaviour, but Athos had stated that Aramis already had enough of an advantage at shooting, and that this would make life more interesting for him. D'Artagnan was not remotely convinced by this argument, but was learning quickly that all was fair where Madame Rodier was concerned.

Earlier that day, in fact, he had inquired about the lady in question to Aramis. With the musketeer's reputation for befriending wealthy widows, D'Artagnan had been sure that, for him at least, guarding Madame Rodier would be no great hardship. However, his questions were met with an ashen look and a hasty retreat. Indeed, Aramis had almost run to the garrison kitchen, where he could be seen downing wine at a speed that would put Athos to shame. Porthos, sitting nearby, had smirked at Aramis' response, but all he had told D'Artagnan was that Aramis had protected Madame Rodier on her last visit, and it was an experience he did not wish to repeat.

In fact, all three of the musketeers seemed horrified at the prospect, and their reactions, combined with the stories he had heard since he'd arrived at the garrison, meant that D'Artagnan was beginning to take this contest more serious than he had before. Whereas the D'Artagnan of a year ago would have refused to take part in any underhand behaviour, and the D'Artagnan of a few days ago would have been unconcerned at the looming competition, the D'Artagnan of this moment was trying to decide which eight o'clock appointment would be most advantageous for him.

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A.N. Thank you for reading – reviews are always appreciated, and the winner is still undecided!


	5. Chapter 5

It was a beautiful day in Paris. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and everything was at peace. Except in the musketeers' garrison, that was, where Treville was close to exploding. Four of his musketeers stood in front of him, but with the exception of those four the garrison was deserted; everyone else had wisely opted to go somewhere a long way away.

"You really are idiots, aren't you? Complete and utter imbeciles. Did you really think that these hare-brained schemes would work?"

He turned to the nearest culprit, who happened to be Porthos. "Would you care to tell me why you got in a fight with three Red Guards behind the Luxembourg?"

Porthos looked torn between embarrassment and belligerence, but before he could speak Treville carried on. "Utterly unprovoked, they tell me, and for once I'm inclined to believe them. Just because D'Artagnan did not come and fight with you – which is also against the rules, by the way – did you really think attacking Red Guards was the best way to spend your evening?"

Cutting off Porthos' answer (which he was worried would be in the affirmative), he turned to Athos. "How would you like to tell me why you were found by a stableboy in the garrison last night, trying to sabotage the muskets?"

Athos was as composed as ever, but again Treville carried on before he could reply. "No, on second thoughts I don't want to know. Nor do I want to know why the two of you," turning to Aramis and D'Artagnan, "decided to practice shooting and sword-fighting by the Hotel de Ville, who by the way are extremely annoyed about the broken statue."

"I have given all the garrison staff the next three days off. The four of you are going to spend that time so busy with cooking, washing, looking after the horses, and doing whatever else needs to be done, you will have no time to think, let alone plot any more madcap ideas. After that, there will be the contest, and after that three of you will have the pleasure of guarding Madame Rodier. Do I make myself clear?"

Happily the four musketeers had the good sense to keep their replies to nods and "yes, Captain." With a final glare, Treville returned to his office, wondering why he had ever thought this stupid contest was a good idea.

* * *

A.N. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

It was two days until the contest, and the weather had changed for the worse. It had been raining steadily for most of the day, which, Treville pondered, was an accurate representation of his mood. The one crumb of comfort was that the rain drowned out the sound of the whining of the four musketeers, but even as he thought this the foursome gathered directly beneath his office, and the crumb went away.

"I'm not doing the laundry."

"Well I'm certainly not doing it."

"As the most senior musketeer I feel it is my duty to delegate this task to someone else."

"As the most junior musketeer I feel it would be beyond me."

Treville bit back a scream.

"Gentlemen, there is no way I can do the laundry. Think of my reputation; what would the widows of Paris say if they found out that the dashing musketeer they'd been acquainted with was in fact a laundrymaid?"

"Precisely why it should be you, Aramis. It'd give us a break from rescuing you from disgruntled husbands."

"I personally feel it should be D'Artagnan – "

"What? Why me?"

"It's a useful initiation into the ranks of the musketeers. Think of it as a learning experience."

"Oh no, the last time I believed you and your learning experiences, I ended up halfway across Paris in search of your stupid hat. Athos, you're the oldest, you do it."

"As I have already explained, with age comes the art of delegation. Besides, it would be demeaning for the Comte de la Fere to do the laundry."

"What happened to wanting to keep your title quiet?"

"Enough!"

The musketeers looked up to see their esteemed captain standing on the balcony, looking dangerously close to explosion.

"I don't know whether this whole argument has been staged to irritate me or not, but either way it is ending. Now. Madame Colbert will be back the day after tomorrow, and the garrison will just have to cope without clean laundry until then. So go, muck out the stables, clean the weapons, do something, anything, just do it quietly!"

Too late Treville realised that the last part of his rant had come out much more high-pitched than he had planned.

"Captain, is everything alright? You sound a little unwell."

Aramis' face was a mask of polite concern, and Treville could almost – almost – believe his sincerity.

"Go. Work. Now."

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A.N. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

The night before the competition the hour musketeers were gathered in a pub. None of them were really sure why they were in a pub, since even Athos had forsaken alcohol in favour of being alert the following day. Nevertheless, there they were, each quietly ruminating about the following day, and, far more worryingly, the days after that, when, for three of them, guard duty would commence.

"I don't suppose it's possible that Treville would just – you know – forget about the forfeit for the losers," asked D'Artagnan, who had spent a large part of the afternoon listening to Victor, a musketeer who was renowned, perhaps unfortunately, for being the only one, to date, who had had to protect Madame Rodier on more than one visit. Whatever he had said to D'Artagnan had definitely had an effect; the youngest musketeer was still several shades paler than usual.

"Lost some of that Gascon confidence?" asked Aramis.

"No! No, I'll win, that is without question, I'm just wondering how bad to feel for you three" said D'Artagnan. The other musketeers made outraged noises at the very thought of him emerging victorious, but none of their hearts were really in the mock argument, and they soon lapsed back into silence.

After a few minutes Athos cleared his throat, and went to raise his glass in a toast. Finding he had no glass to toast with, he settled for sitting up straighter, and putting on his I-am-the-most-mature-person-here face.

"Gentlemen, may the best man win."

* * *

In another pub, Treville was also sitting, and like his musketeers, he had elected not to drink that evening. Unlike his musketeers, however, his mood was bordering on jubilant. He was looking forward to the following day on a number of levels. Firstly, and most charitably, it was always a pleasure to watch such skilled warriors compete. Secondly, it would put an end to the week of hell he had been forced to endure. And thirdly, and most rewardingly, there was the thought that this time tomorrow, he would have three of them out of his hair for several weeks.

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A.N. Thank you for reading, and for your reviews!


	8. Chapter 8

The following day dawned bright and sunny, dashing the hopes of the foursome, who had each fervently wished for a sudden snowstorm, or perhaps an earthquake, anything to cancel the competition.

Round one, Treville had decided, would be hand-to-hand combat. It was best to place shooting in the middle, as it was the least physically taxing. It was also, if not best, certainly the most entertaining to finish with the swords, it being the only contest where the winner was not almost a foregone conclusion. Porthos, who had arrived looking positively melancholy, had cheered up considerably at the thought of gaining an early lead. The others, however, were looking almost queasy, a fact that Treville noted with no small amount of satisfaction. Revenge was indeed sweet.

The garrison was considerably busier than usual – only those on essential duties were elsewhere. Judging by the frequent clinkings the Captain could hear, wagers were being placed with great enthusiasm. From what he could tell, Athos was the current favourite, but only just. Treville made a mental note to personally ensure the King's safety the following day, as he had the distinct suspicion that, besides the four competing musketeers, who would certainly be needed alcohol after today, a large proportion of his elite soldiers would spend the evening either celebrating their winnings or drowning their sorrows.

For now, however, he was just going to relax and enjoy the day.

"Gentlemen, the scoring system is as follows. First place in each discipline will be awarded 3 points, second place 2, third 1, and fourth 0. At the end of the day the totals will be added up, and the winner will be the one with the most points. For the other three, a delightful period will ensure, especially as I have heard that Madame Rodier is planning on staying somewhat longer than usual."

He had heard no such thing, but the lie was worth it to see four of his best musketeers go weak at the knees. Trying and failing to conceal his smile, he made the portentous announcement,

"Let the contest begin."

* * *

A.N. Last chance to suggest the winner! Thank you for reading.


	9. Chapter 9

A childhood spent in the Court of Miracles really did have its advantages, thought Porthos, as they moved on to their second fight of the morning. Yes, there were the small matters of struggling to find food and shelter on a daily basis, but it had given him the ability to fight, and fight dirty, which outweighed all the hardships at this moment. He had beaten D'Artagnan with almost indecent haste, and was still musing on his upbringing as he unceremoniously deposited Aramis in the muddiest puddle available – for the third time.

For his part, Aramis' thoughts were not nearly so happy. Not only had he been beaten by Athos in the first round (and how a son of the nobility had known such underhand tricks he did not know), he now strongly suspected that he was little more than entertainment for Porthos. Despite his best efforts, he had been unable to land a single hit so far, and his previously spotless uniform was now all but covered in mud. Really, he thought, the day could not get much worse.

A few seconds later he was forced to revise that opinion, when he found himself suspended upside down over the garrison well.

* * *

On the other side of the garrison D'Artagnan was up against Athos. What he lacked in experience he made up for in energy; the one advantage of starting against Porthos was that the match had been over so quickly, meaning that he was still fairly fresh. He also had the sneaking suspicion that Athos, while obviously wanting to win, did not want to humiliate him in front of the watching musketeers, and was therefore holding back slightly. D'Artagnan therefore began to slow, and allowed a tired, pained expression to take over his face, predicting that Athos would also slow to match him. A small part of D'Artagnan felt guilty for manipulating Athos in such a way, but the guilt vanished entirely when he suddenly returned to full speed, and saw the surprise on Athos' face, followed closely by severe disgruntlement when the older musketeer ended up on the ground in an armlock.

* * *

And so they moved on to the final round. Athos, while able to give Porthos a bit more of a fight than he had had so far that morning, was still beaten in a few minutes, meaning that the two of them were able to watch Aramis versus D'Artagnan. At first it looked like Aramis had the upper hand, and indeed he was soon able to land a solid hit that sent the Gascon to the ground, where he lay unmoving. Aramis immediately went to check on him, and Athos was also looking concerned, but Porthos had realised what he was doing, and only chuckled when D'Artagnan kicked upwards, sending Aramis sprawling.

Yes, D'Artagnan mused, fighting with honour was severely overrated.

"That concludes the first round, gentlemen," said Treville, enjoying himself mightily as he gazed down at the varying degrees of muddiness. "So Porthos has 3 points, D'Artagnan 2, Athos 1, and Aramis is languishing in last."

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A.N. Thanks for reading and reviewing – I really appreciate it!


	10. Chapter 10

The shooting was the only round where the four musketeers would not be taking it in turns to compete against each other, as all four could go at once. To make life more interesting, Treville had decided to introduce an element of speed into it. Thus, each musketeer would have to load and shoot at a target five times. While accuracy would be the primary factor, their speed would also be a feature of deciding the winner.

The targets were set up at one end of the garrison. To Treville, and to the audience, they looked fairly unassuming – the same as they had any other day. To the foursome, however, they were truly terrifying. Porthos mused that he would prefer an army of attacking Huguenots at this moment; the prospect of imminent death was preferable to the thought of protecting Madame Rodier and her lapdogs.

Treville decided that he would keep the musketeers waiting a few minutes before beginning this round. If anyone had asked him, he would have said that this was teaching his soldiers a valuable exercise in patience. The voice in his head, however, pointed out that the main reason for this was for the entertainment of watching them panic. Athos, as always, was standing still, looking eminently unruffled. The other three, however, were providing much more amusement. Porthos was not a patient man at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. He was shifting about in front of the targets, growing steadily more unnerved. Aramis seemed to be in communion with his musket, muttering to it earnestly. D'Artagnan, in contrast, was looking rather pleased with himself, having done better than expected in the previous round. However, his smugness was slipping the longer he waited.

Treville was tempted to let them stew all day, but reluctantly decided to be kind. He moved to the side of the targets, and announced the start.

Aramis, as predicted, was extraordinary. Really it was unfair, Treville thought, that a man could be so talented with firearms, especially a man who had caused him so many headaches. By the time the other three were loading for their fourth shot, he was taking his fifth, each one a perfect bullseye. Porthos was next to finish, but the results were not nearly so good. While Porthos, despite Aramis' teasing, was a more than capable shot, having to load at speed had flustered him, and he had not taken enough time to aim. Two shots had missed the target entirely, and the other three were nowhere the middle. It looked like Porthos' commanding lead was over.

Athos finished third, having loaded and shot with the calmness that defined him. His shots were good; although none had hit the centre, they were all close. Just behind him was D'Artagnan. His relative lack of experience showed in the slightly longer time it had taken him to reload, but his shots were very good. In fact, considered Treville, they may be good enough to overtake Athos, despite the longer time to finish. A closer look confirmed his suspicions – D'Artagnan had two bullseyes, and the other three were also fairly close to the centre.

Treville smiled – this was going to be even closer than he had thought. D'Artagnan was now in the lead with 4 points, Aramis and Porthos were each on 3, and Athos had 2.

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A.N. Reviews appreciated - thank you for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

Treville was almost sorry that they had already reached the final round of the contest; while he was looking forward to the peace that would come from the absence of three of the competitors, as well as the lack of complaints, damage reports and general headaches, this day had been thoroughly enjoyable, both for the (slightly sadistic) entertainment at the terror of said musketeers, and for the pleasure of watching some of the best warriors in France compete. This last round promised to be the most entertaining of them all.

The first stage of swordplay consisted of Athos versus D'Artagnan, and Porthos versus Aramis. Athos had said, quite rightly, that one day D'Artagnan could be the greatest of all of them, and his lead in the contest so far would seem to support this, but that day had not yet arrived. While D'Artagnan had natural talent by the boatload, his relative lack of experience coupled with excessive smugness about his performance thus far meant that Athos could gain the lead, which he did. Decisively. D'Artagnan-pinned-to-a-post-by-a-dagger-in-his-sleeve decisively – Athos seemed to have learnt his lesson about underestimating the Gascon.

Porthos and Aramis were still going by the time D-Artagnan had freed himself; the two of them had sparred so many times that, despite their different techniques, they were fairly evenly matched. However, some teasing from Aramis had the desired effect of annoying Porthos to the point that his guard slipped for a fraction of a second, which was all that was required.

Next, it was Athos versus Aramis, and Porthos versus D'Artagnan. Aramis was one of the only members of the regiment who was able, albeit rarely to beat Athos at swordplay, but with the threat of Madame Rodier foremost in his mind Athos was not about to make any mistakes, and won the match after a few minutes. Porthos, who was fuming after his defeat in the earlier match, went in with all guns metaphorically blazing, and was able to use sheer strength to overpower D'Artagnan.

The Gascon's cockiness was fading rapidly, and the final round did not help matters. Both he and Aramis had similar fighting techniques – relying on speed over strength – but on this day experience triumphed, leaving D'Artagnan with the grand total of 0 points in this round. Athos, in contrast, had come back from last place overall to a win in swordplay, having dispatched Porthos with customary efficiency.

"So the final results are as follows" announced Treville, with a slight air of panic. "D'Artagnan and Porthos both finish with 4 points, and Athos and Aramis both have 5. A tiebreaker is therefore required."

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Thanks for reading! Any ideas on said tiebreaker would be appreciated.


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